Chapter 19 #2
I want to stop him, to tell him he doesn't need to be embarrassed. Nothing happened. We'd spent the night keeping warm. That was all. And if I'm being honest, waking up between Fenric and Thorian felt far safer than waking up alone.
The realization catches me off guard. Perhaps because it isn't entirely practical. Perhaps because it reminds me a little too much of the dream.
Before I can untangle that troubling thought, Fenric has already disappeared into the forest in search of breakfast.
“He’s right. We need to get going. Dawn is already here,” Thorian says, his voice deep and low in my hair. “Would you mind lifting your head from my arm?”
“Sorry,” I mutter, blushing myself and sitting up, watching as Thorian sits, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Did your arm fall asleep?”
He looks at me like the idea is absurd, shakes his head, and turns. I try to use the glimpse of his face to read his thoughts about what just happened, waking up cuddled together with Fenric and I, but Thorian is, as per usual, unreadable.
Thorian completely extinguishes the fire and I kneel down, bundling up the bed roll and slipping it back into the nap-sack, which I wish had more in the way of utility, and less in the way of comfort.
I won’t be surprised if we abandon the bed roll later in favor of keeping food, water, or other supplies in the bag, but at least it kept us warm last night.
Well, Thorian and Fenric kept me warm.
“Found these,” Fenric announces, bursting back into the clearing and dropping a shirtful of berries onto one of the stumps. Thorian crosses to him and picks one up, examining it carefully.
“How do we know these aren’t poisoned?” he asks, turning the berry from side to side.
“My family and I foraged all the time,” Fenric says. “These ones are safe.”
The two of them fall into an argument about the berries, debating whether they're safe and whether they're worth the risk.
After several minutes of listening to them go back and forth, my patience finally runs out.
Before either man can make another point, I reach forward and pop one of the berries into my mouth.
Thorian whips toward me, eyes widening in alarm. Beside him, Fenric merely arches a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he's waiting to be proven right.
My heart pounds as my teeth break the skin and the berry bursts open, delicious and sweet. I swallow it down.
“Well,” I say, smiling at them, “it doesn’t taste poisonous.”
Fenric lets out a smug little laugh. “I told you it wasn't.”
“You don't know that for certain,” Thorian says grumpily.
“I do know that.” Fenric reaches forward and plucks several more berries from his pile. “We had these growing all over the woods near my village. My sister and brother used to stain their fingers purple picking them every summer.”
Thorian’s expression softens briefly.
Without hesitation, Fenric pops a berry into his mouth. “My mother made jam from them when we could spare the sugar. Most years, we couldn't.”
“Unless the gods decided to make these poisonous specifically for the Trials,” Thorian says, brow lifted.
“If we think the gods made everything poisonous to trick us, we’ll die of hunger out here long before we die from anything else,” Fenric argues, eating another berry.
I can see it on both their faces. Fenric has won this particular battle, and they know it.
Despite his grumbling, Thorian reaches over and eats a handful of the berries.
Fenric immediately points at him. “Tasty, right?”
“I really don’t like you,” Thorian mutters under his breath.
The berserker grins. “You don't mean that.”
Thorian gives him a look. “I absolutely do.”
I laugh and keep eating, knowing I’ll need energy for what’s to come.
The day that stretches out before us is surprisingly pleasant.
Sunlight spills through the trees in brilliant shafts of gold, birds call high in the canopy, and a cool breeze keeps the heat from becoming oppressive.
If not for the weapons strapped to our bodies and the distant sounds of monsters moving through the woods, it might almost feel like an ordinary journey.
Almost.
Because every snapped branch makes my pulse jump.
Every distant roar reminds me that we're surrounded by things that would happily tear us apart.
The forest is beautiful in the same way a venomous snake is beautiful.
The appearance is real enough. It's the danger lurking beneath it that's the problem.
We move carefully, heeding Thorian's warning about attracting attention. Even with Fenric joining our team, our goal remains the same: avoid unnecessary fights. The monsters are dangerous enough without adding rival competitors to the list.
For a time, the journey is almost enjoyable.
The forest around us takes on the colors of deep autumn, the trees exploding with shades of red, gold, and orange so vivid they scarcely seem real.
Leaves drift constantly from the branches overhead.
One lands in my hair, and Thorian removes it with his usual no-nonsense efficiency.
A few minutes later, Fenric plucks a leaf from Thorian's shoulder.
Thorian glares.
Fenric grins.
I laugh.
And then, without warning, autumn ends. There is no gradual transition. No thinning of trees. No shift in climate. One moment we're walking through a forest. The next, we're standing at the edge of a something new and surprising.
I stop so abruptly that Fenric nearly walks into me.
Sand stretches as far as I can see. Towering cacti rise from the dunes, many larger than houses. Heat shimmers in the distance, warping the landscape.
I glance back over my shoulder. The forest still stands behind us, ending in a perfectly straight line where the desert begins.
"What in the world?" I breathe.
I've never seen anything like this before.
“It’s a desert,” Thorian explains. “It’s dry and harsh, but pretty in its own way.”
A desert. I've read about them, of course. Seen drawings. Heard travelers describe them. But none of that compares to standing before one.
"The stream," Thorian says.
Fenric follows his gaze and nods. "We'll need every drop we can carry."
While Thorian remains at the edge of the sand, watching for danger, Fenric and I hurry back through the trees. The stream burbles along as though nothing about this place is strange. We refill every canteen we have in silence before putting them back in the pack.
When we return, Thorian gives each of us a quick once-over before his gaze settles on the endless desert again.
For the first hour, I'm fascinated. The sand gleams like gold in the sunlight. Strange flowers bloom from the sides of the cacti. Tiny lizards dart between rocks. The sky seems impossibly large without the canopy overhead.
It's unlike anything I've ever seen.
Back home, the world is green. Forests. Fields. Rivers. Here, the landscape stretches endlessly in every direction, vast and open in a way that makes me feel very small. Every dune reveals another beyond it. Every rise promises something new, only to reveal more sand.
Even Fenric and Thorian seem different beneath the relentless sun.
Fenric removes his shirt and tosses it over his shoulder, exposing a broad chest already glistening with sweat.
The copper curls at his temples are damp, sticking to his skin.
Every so often, he drags a hand through his hair and mutters about how much he hates the heat, despite looking as though he belongs in some painting depicting a heroic warrior crossing the wilderness.
Which is a thoroughly inconvenient observation.
Thorian fares better, though only slightly. His leather armor remains firmly in place despite the temperature. Sweat darkens the fabric in places, clinging to the powerful lines of his body. The short sleeves expose muscle that shifts beneath tanned skin whenever he moves.
I catch myself staring.
Unfortunately, I catch myself staring just as Thorian catches me staring. One corner of his mouth twitches. Heat floods my face so quickly that it’s obvious it has nothing to do with the desert.
I immediately redirect my attention toward a cactus. The cactus is fascinating. Absolutely riveting.
By the time I risk looking back, Fenric is openly amused, and Thorian is giving me a look that suggests he knows exactly what happened despite not having witnessed any of it.
Then the sun climbs higher and so does the temperature.
The dry air scrapes my throat raw. Sweat sticks my clothes to my skin.
Sand finds its way into my boots, my sleeves, my hair, and places I didn't know sand could reach.
Every hour or so, we stop long enough to take a careful mouthful from one of the canteens before passing it to the next person.
No one drinks more than they have to. No one complains.
Before long, the wonder wears off, replaced by a growing misery.
By the time we finally emerge from the desert, I could happily spend the rest of my life never seeing another grain of sand.
That relief lasts approximately three seconds.
"No," Thorian says, crouching a little, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Fenric raises an eyebrow. "No?"
Before us stretches a swamp. Dark water glistens beneath twisted trees draped in moss.
The air feels damp and heavy after the dry desert, carrying the scent of stagnant water and decaying vegetation.
Insects buzz lazily over murky pools, and a low fog hangs above the surface in places.
The place doesn't look particularly different from the sort of swamp I've read about in books, but it seems to have immediately put Thorian on edge.
"What?" I ask.
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he studies the water, the trees, the fog hanging low over the surface.
His gaze moves constantly, never settling in one place for long, and I find myself scanning the swamp too, trying to see whatever it is that has him so concerned. Finally, he shakes his head.
"Something's wrong with it."
"Wrong how?" Fenric asks.